


Mater Fertilium

by hikorichan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Chlorophilia, Dendrophilia, Erotica, F/M, Fetish, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Relationship, Fuck Or Die, Herbology, Impregnation, Masturbation, Nymphomania, Other, Plants, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Procreative Sex, Severus Snape Lives, Sex Pollen, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-08 17:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10392225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikorichan/pseuds/hikorichan
Summary: There is only one way to save Harry: Hermione must become a mother.





	1. Needs Must

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to say to explain this. Please read the tags for warnings. Thank you to my (thankfully non-judgemental) beta MelodyLepetit. Hopefully some of you will enjoy this!

**Mater Fertilium**

**Chapter 1: Needs Must**

The atmosphere in the infirmary was grim. The limp body of Harry Potter lay stretched on a hospital bed, his face pale and sweaty, and his forehead shielded by a damp cloth. 

It might have been mid-afternoon on a summer’s day, but the weather seemed to have anticipated the mood: the clouds outside the tall windows were black, heavy with rain. The candles sputtered in a useless attempt to banish the darkness that had fallen on Hogwarts. 

All those present at Hogwarts—save for the ghosts and ghouls—stood around the failing young man. Ron and Hermione stood off to the side, their expressions anxious. McGonagall, at the foot of the bed, appeared stern. Severus Snape and Madame Pomfrey took charge of diagnosis, their wands leaving white and gold trails above Harry as they worked. 

“Poison,” Severus announced after a time, scowling. 

A breath seemed to escape the room. Even the candles guttered.

“Is it curable, then?” asked McGonagall hopefully, her eyes never wavering from the young man on the bed. 

“Yes,” Snape answered, his frown deepening. “However… Angelus Elixir is the only antidote.”

McGonagall and Pomfrey shared a distraught glance. 

“Do you have any in your stores?” Pomfrey asked, and Snape shook his head.

“At least tell me you have the flower?”

Once again, Snape shook his head. “It hasn’t bloomed in three years, and if I do not get it within the next several hours, Potter will die before I can brew the elixir.”

Pomfrey looked at McGonagall. “Do we have a list?”

This time, it was McGonagall who shook her head. Her frowned deepened, eyes flicking towards Hermione, an action that Snape did not miss. 

“You cannot be considering that!”

“What choice do we have, Severus?”

“It is… unacceptable!” Severus roared, standing abruptly. 

McGonagall took a heavy breath. “Normally I would agree with you, but under the circumstances…” She looked at Hermione again. “Perhaps it would be best if we let Miss Granger decide.”

At the mention of her name, the young witch brightened. “If there is something I can do to help, I want to do it!” she said emphatically, stepping forward. 

“You do not know the consequences to what you agree!” Snape growled across the bed.

“So explain them to her,” commanded McGonagall, in a tone that brooked no argument. “In private, Severus. Go. If you are right, we do not have much time.”

“Surely there must be someone else!” Severus argued.

“Where, Severus? Would you like me to run down to Hogsmeade to attempt to find them? While it is teeming with Aurors, no less?”

Snape glowered at the headmistress. “It is not right!” he blurted, a last, feeble attempt.

“The war was not right, Severus! And neither is its hero being poisoned only three months after surviving. We are wasting time!”

The two professors glared at each other, spines stiff and eyes unrelenting. 

“Hermione,” said Ron anxiously, appearing beside her, “maybe you shouldn’t do this. There must be another antidote.”

“There is nothing else,” Severus hissed, rising up. He peered resignedly at Hermione. “Come, Miss Granger, we don’t have much time.”

With that, he turned on his heels, robes billowing around his narrow form as he sped towards the exit. 

Hermione glanced at Ron, then McGonagall, who gave her a short nod. Folding her mouth into a firm line, Hermione nodded back, and then followed her professor outside. 

Hermione had to run to catch up with Snape’s long strides, and before long they had descended into the dungeons. The candles in his office sputtered to life as they entered, the door slamming on Hermione’s heels, making her jump. 

“Sit,” was all Snape said, taking the chair behind his desk. He rested his forearms on the table, fingers pressed together in an arch in front of him. His face was blank, more sallow than she remembered, his eyes dark and serious.

Hermione sat carefully on the wooden chair in front of him, wondering what exactly she was needed to do. 

After a few long moments, Snape took a deep breath. “Miss Granger, have you heard of the Fertilium plant?”

Hermione nodded. “The Fertilium is of the genus _capturum_ , and is therefore related to the Devil’s Snare. Like the Devil’s Snare, it has long vines and specialized pods. It produces flowers and fruit rarely, but they are said to be laced with powerful healing properties."

“And do you know why it produces flowers and fruit so rarely?”

Hermione shook her head. “That was not listed in any of my books, Sir.”

Snape’s frown deepened across the table. “The plant requires… human assistance in order to reproduce.”

"Assistance, Sir?"

“The ova of a fertile female."

Hermione’s eyes widened with realisation. 

“You need my eggs?”

Snape scowled at her, and then stood, pacing behind his desk. His voice turned into the one Hermione recalled from his lectures as he continued. “It is a symbiotic relationship, an ancient one as beings and the plant evolved alongside one another. You see, Miss Granger, the plant not only retrieves and uses a female's ova to produce its own offspring, but it stimulates fertility in the contributor in return.”

Hermione went to speak, but Snape held up a silencing hand.

“Miss Granger, if you were to agree to this, you would become… overcome with the urge to copulate. Under normal circumstances, we would contact a couple having trouble conceiving. However, neither a suitable couple nor time are at hand. I understand it is a lot to ask of you, and I will not fault you for halting this now.”

He stopped, and turned to Hermione. “Tell me no, and we will return to Potter.”

“But you said there is no other solution!”

Snape swore under his breath, shaking his head. “You do not know what you agree too!” he shouted, eyes wide. He slammed a palm down on the table, making Hermione jump. “Miss Granger, even if I dose you with a contraceptive potion, you will be unable to rest until you conceive! You will become pregnant—you must!”

Hermione considered this information for a moment, her lack of outright dismissal clearly frustrating Snape, for he sat down with a thunk in his chair. 

After a few moments, Hermione asked calmly. “Could I abort it afterward?”

Snape shook his head. “The plant’s magic places a protective barrier around the womb. The child will come to term.”

“The antidote is the only way to save Harry?” 

Snape nodded grimly. 

“Then I’ll do it.”

“You'll give your life away!” Severus hissed, and Hermione bristled. 

“Having a child is hardly giving my life away! I was hoping to wait until I was older to have children, but if I can save Harry’s life by doing it now, then I'll do it."

She and Snape glared at each other for a long moment, before Snape sighed and dropped his gaze. He wiped his brow. “Very well then. The only question is who you would like to be the father. It would be best to have him present.”

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked, her cheeks turning crimson. “I had rather assumed it would be you.”

Snape slammed his fists on the table. “You cannot be serious! Certainly Weasley is a better option!”

“I like Ron, but not..." she shook her head. “I would prefer it be someone with the capacity to care for a child. Can you think of any seventeen-year-old boy that is prepared to be a father? In any way?”

"No, but I would not think a seventeen-year-old girl is prepared either!"

"Eighteen."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm eighteen," Hermione repeated with emphasis.

"Barely a difference," Snape snapped.

Hermione sat up straighter. "Regardless, it is my decision. Will you help me or not, Professor?"

Severus’s expression grew increasingly sour. But when her eyes remained resolutely fixed upon his, he sighed and grew thoughtful. 

“Excuse my asking something so personal, Miss Granger, but have you… are you a virgin?”

"I think we are past being concerned about personal questions, Sir. I’m not, but I don’t see how it matters.”

"I would not—" he cleared his throat, turning away from her. His eyebrows twitched, curling up, then down as Hermione watched. 

“Please, Professor, help me save Harry.”

Snape's eyes lifted, and gleamed with something she could not understand. 

“Very well.”


	2. In the Greenhouse

**Chapter 2: In the Greenhouse**

Snape led Hermione down to the greenhouses, past the ones she knew from classes. The door to greenhouse 14 creaked as they entered, the room quiet inside except for the dripping of water and the occasional rustling of leaves. The air was thick with heat and humidity, and sweat dotted Hermione's brow as she followed Snape past a number of strange plants and through a glass door into another room. 

On the other side was a single plant, a tangle of vines with large, broad leaves erupting from near its centre. On the ends of several of the vines were strange, phallic-shaped pods, and Hermione shivered slightly as she saw them.

“What will it do to me?” she asked quietly, staring at it, and as if sensing her gaze, it began to shift.

“It will… enter you, in order to procure the ova and... prepare you to conceive.”

Hermione nodded, biting her lip.

“Would you prefer I waited outside?”

“I’ll feel safer if you watch.”

Carefully, and all too aware of Snape’s eyes upon her, Hermione began to undress. She removed her shoes, and placed her clothes into a neat pile on top of a chair near the door. She rested her wand on top. Then she turned around, and took a brave step towards the plant.

“Stand in front of it, and it will do the rest,” instructed Snape in a smooth voice.

"Have you watched this before?" Hermione asked, moving to stand where Severus had indicated would be best. She faced him, heard the vines of the plant come to life behind her, and jumped when one of them touched her ankle.

“I have read and heard description enough to understand.”

Hermione forgot about Snape for a moment as more vines began swirling around her, tickling her skin. One of the pods trailed over the front of her body, pausing in front of her armpits and her mons, pulsating somewhat as if it was smelling her. Apparently it liked what it smelled, for the vines curled around her arms and legs, pulling her gently backwards. She shrieked as a large vine curled around her torso, lifting her up and into the base of the plant. 

Held balanced on the foliage in the centre of the plant, the thinner vines curling around her legs pulled them apart, leaving her vulva exposed. Hermione’s heart thudded fearfully in her chest, watching as the pod that had sniffed her slithered between her thighs. It was large—larger than the penises of the boys she’d slept with—and she squirmed apprehensively in her bindings. 

The end of the pod opened, and a yellowish goo began to seep from the end. She thought she might hyperventilate as it began to rub itself over her labia, and then nudged against her opening.

"Oh God," she gasped as she felt herself stretching to accommodate the plant. It felt slick and firm, and when it finally breached her entirely, there was a moment of pleasant fullness before it began to move.

"What?" she gasped as the pod pumped in and out of her, but any confusion was quickly overtaken by the sheer pleasure of it. She moaned, her head drooping, limbs relaxing, hips rising. A slick squelching sound emanated from her crotch as it continued, and Hermione lost any hesitation over being fucked by the plant.

Concentrating on its movement inside of her, she didn't notice the vines tightening, more of them circling her torso, her limbs, her neck. They spread her legs wider, the leaves growing firmer against her back. The pod gave a few quick thrusts, and then burrowed itself deep inside her, halting.

Hermione tried to shift, to encourage it to move again, and it was then she noticed how tightly trapped she had become. Squirming, she felt the pod moving inside her, tunnelling as deep as it could go before it began to expand, something spiralling like long fingers from its engorged end. 

Hermione whimpered, but it quickly turned into a scream as its appendages breached her cervix, jolting tears into her eyes. 

It was a lance inside her, yet as quickly as it struck, it began to change. Soon, her pelvis and belly were filled with the greatest pleasure she had ever known. Her moan rattled the glass of the greenhouse as the plant's magic enveloped her insides, preparing her for what it needed and granting her its greatest gift. A blissful spiral of ecstasy shot up her spine as the pod shuddered, detaching, and her back arched against her bondage as it slithered out. 

The pod’s vacancy left her distraught, overtaken by a seemingly unquenchable desire to be filled again—to be taken, to reproduce. So when she saw twelve longer pods floating in front of her, she did not hesitate to urge them forward with a gasped, “Please.” 

She sobbed with blissful relief when the first one entered her, and it was only moments before she was bucking and moaning lasciviously as it pummelled her, sucking out of her what it needed and giving her what she craved in return. 

"No!" she cried when it finally pulled away with a slurp, her need for penetration, for stimulation overcoming the need for all else. She would have screamed had another pod not thrust itself inside her seconds later.

Within a few strokes, she became a writhing mass within the plant, inconsolable and lost to her desire. Sweat coated every inch of her skin, her juices and the plant's smeared all over her vulva and thighs and dripping down into her anus. 

Near the door stood Severus, unable to take his eyes from her. Unable to stop himself, he had loosened his robes, lifting them over his hips so he could stroke his aching cock. Never—never—had he seen anything as arousing as the Fertilium’s relentless shagging of Hermione. The pods churned into her violently, and yet she ground against them, moaning ceaselessly, as if she could never get enough. She was a goddess: Venus possessed. 

He watched each pod enter her in turn, pummelling her into higher states of ecstasy as they sucked her ova into their green mouths without her awareness. Impatiently he stroked his erection, knowing he would be last, knowing she would want him. 

When finally the plant removed the last of its pods from her glistening, quivering clutch, its vines lowering her to her feet, Severus was ready. He stepped forward, catching her under the arms as her knees gave way.

He stared down at her nakedness, breath tight in his throat. Hermione peered up at him, eyes still dark and half-lidded with desire.

"Severus, please," she begged hoarsely, and his momentary pause was enough to make her desperate. She ground herself against him, tugging at his robes, pleading with him ceaselessly. 

“Fuck me, Severus, please! I need you inside me!”

With haste Severus lifted her onto a bench, hoisting his robes again to reveal his cock.

“Please, Severus!” Hermione continued to beg, shifting her hips towards him and spreading her legs as wide as she could. "Fuck me! Please!”

Entering her was like sliding into heaven. Her body was entirely accepting, her slick walls devouring his cock. He choked out a sob as he began to thrust, for he had never felt anything so divine.

"Yes, yes, yes," Hermione chanted, arching backwards, hips pushing up and against him as he rocked into her. Wanting more of him, she clung to the tops of his robes, pulling him over her. Severus followed her backwards, perching on his hands so he could thrust into her faster, harder.

He knew he would not last long.

She was babbling, her body shaking, more and more fluid slopping around his cock.

"Yes, Severus... fuck me... fill me... please... I need it… don’t stop…”

He gave a few, final, valiant, forceful strokes, and then he was screaming as he came, unable to stop thrusting as he ejaculated inside her. 

His testicles spent, he stilled, not yet ready to leave the heaven of her body. 

Below him, Hermione blinked as if waking from a dream.

"Severus," she breathed. Sweat beaded on her brow and her hair spread out in a frizzy mass around her head. Yet her young face wore the expression of sedate pleasure. Her fingers remained tangled in his robes, her hips still rocking languidly. 

The reality of having fucked and impregnated his former student hit Severus like a brick to the head.

“Miss—Miss Granger, are you all right?" he asked, standing upright. With regret, he let his limp member slip from her vagina, and covered his shame with his robes. He pushed away the urge to touch her, hold her, kiss her.

"That was… mmmm," Hermione hummed her opinion, a blissful smile on her lips. Dregs of pleasure still swirled through her. She arched her back against the table and ran her hands down her body, pausing to knead her breasts. Severus looked away.

"Severus."

He looked back, and she was sitting upright, pointing.

"Look!"

In front of them, the plant was blooming. Twelve pods reached for the ceiling, immaculate spears sprouting from their ends. They twisted and shivered, then uncurled like beautiful dancers, revealing scarlet petals tipped with fiery amber.

“They’re beautiful," Hermione breathed. She tilted her head, studying the flowers, then jumped off the bench, for she had come to another realization.

Approaching the Fertilium, she caressed the nearest bloom with her fingers, her nose tickling from its honey-jasmine perfume. 

“I suppose they’re my children too.”

Severus stared at her, swallowed. His eyes skimmed her naked belly.

"We should return to the castle," he urged her, his voice hoarse. "I need only a single flower. The rest we can let go to seed, if you wish. Plant them.”

Hermione turned to him and smiled. "I’d like that," she said, and then walked toward her clothes to get dressed.

Carefully, Severus took a pair of shears and cut one of the largest flowers from the plant. He put it gently in a basket, and cast a protective charm to keep it safe until he got to his laboratory.

Silently, they walked back to the castle.

Severus didn't protest as Hermione followed him back to the dungeons, nor when she perched herself on a stool in his laboratory to watch him brew.

Carefully, he began preparing the antidote, trying to ignore the way his still-sticky penis stuck to his thighs, and the way Hermione stared at him, a hand on her belly and her bottom lip between her teeth. Relying on his Occlumency, he pushed the thoughts of sex and parenthood aside, and lost himself in his work, sinking into the peacefulness of his laboratory. 

Knowing Harry Potter would live.


	3. Mate

Chapter 3: Mate

Hermione watched Severus leave to deliver the antidote to Madame Pomfrey. She sat on a thickly-padded armchair in his quarters, her legs curled underneath her and her feet bare, still feeling the tingles of her sex-induced high. 

When Severus returned, they would talk.

Something that normally happened before two people decided to become parents, but there had not been time. Hermione peered down at her belly, finding it hard to imagine there was a tiny speck of cells inside that would soon grow into a child.

She found she could not regret it, even if she was scared about how her decision would alter her future. Career plans would have to be delayed, most likely. Priorities would change. She wondered how involved Severus would want to be with the child—with her. 

He'd been more passionate than she'd expected.

It made her wonder if there might be something there—something worth pursuing. She'd certainly enjoyed having him inside her, regardless of how the plant made her feel about it. It was unexpected, but then so was reproducing with a plant. 

Sometimes magic astounded her, even now. 

She wasn't looking forward to explaining the situation to her friends. She knew knew Harry would feel guilty, and Ron would be angry, even if it was her choice to conceive. Her parents would be disappointed, but understanding towards her; they wouldn't hesitate to play grandparents, even if they believed the child had come too soon, that she had ‘given her life away’—did Severus still feel that way, now that he had contributed to her condition?

Hermione wondered if Severus had family. What McGonagall would think when he told her that he had agreed to become the father. What he thought about the ordeal.

Hermione had stolen a blanket and a book by the time Severus returned. She sat up quickly as he entered, noting his expression was tired and grim. 

"Is Harry all right?"

"Recovering," replied Severus, slipping onto the sofa across from her. 

“Thank you,” Hermione spoke softly. 

“Poppy would like to see you as soon as you feel able.”

“I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot of mediwitches now.” She tried to grin at her joke, but Severus’s serious expression made her lips fall. The silence stretched between them, and unwilling to endure it, Hermione set her book aside, and stood from the chair. She took the few paces that distanced them, and then motioned towards the couch. 

“May I?” 

Severus nodded, and so Hermione took the seat next to him, sitting on her folded knees. 

“Did you tell Professor McGonagall?”

Severus’s eyes flicked towards her. “She was not pleased that I participated.”

“Would she have rather I ran down to Hogsmeade and asked for a volunteer?” Hermione teased, trying again to lighten the heavy atmosphere that had settled on the room. 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Miss Granger—Hermione…” He cleared his throat. “I want you to know that I will do right by my responsibilities.”

“Thank you, Severus. I—” Hermione paused, gathering her thoughts. “I want you to be involved as much as you like. Not just after the child is born, but during the pregnancy. Honestly, I’d appreciate the support. I imagine I will need some time to sort out what to do; I’d hoped to go to the Lamsang Institute after NEWTs, but I suppose I won’t be travelling for a while.”

Severus fists clenched in his lap. “Damn Potter! Does he know what he asks of his friends?”

“He didn’t ask, Severus. I volunteered.”

Her spun to her, eyes large and piercing, mouth turned up into a sneer. 

“And to become a soldier? To fear being called upon for the rest of your life, did you volunteer for that too?”

Hermione smiled sadly at his bitterness. “I did,” she answered surely, “and I’d do it again. I refuse to regret this, Severus, no matter what happens. My child—our child—will know it was created out of love, even if it wasn’t the love that normally leads to conception.”

She leaned her side against the back of the sofa, sighing, unable to feel angry at the man in front of her. Instinctively, she reached up and brushed a stray piece of hair behind his ear, making him stiffen. 

“I’m sorry I never asked if you wanted children.”

He seemed to deflate, shoulders drooping, his gaze turning towards his lap. 

“There is nothing to be sorry for, Hermione.”

“Did you—do you want children?”

Severus’s jaw tightened, his answer a single, curt nod. Hermione felt her heart falter, his feelings on the matter as clear in that short movement as if he’d spoken: _I never believed I would have the chance._

“I think you’ll be a good father.”

Snape sneered at her. “As good as I am at teaching the brats?”

Hermione snorted. “You do get results, though perhaps you could be a little more patient with ours.”

She watched his lips twitch upward, and she was filled with a strange urge; perhaps it was the residue of the plant’s magic, but she did not want to resist it.

“Severus,” she called his attention, shifting on her knees. His dark eyes met hers, liquid and open.

“Would you… I know we’ve done this a bit backwards, but… could we… try?”

Confusion and worry flickered over his expression. 

“Wouldn’t it be better if we were together?”

“You aren’t serious.”

“I am completely serious.”

“And if you decide you dislike me?”

Hermione gave him a wry smile. “Then we promise to remain friends, to be civil and understanding, because I won’t be able to bear fighting with you over our child.”

When Severus did not answer, Hermione moved herself carefully towards him, searching for signs to stop. Perceiving none, she lowered herself so she straddled his lap. 

“I do not understand you, Hermione,” he said gruffly. 

“What don’t you understand?”

“Why you would agree to any of this. Is it all for Potter?”

“The beginning was. This, now, is for me. For us. For our child.”

She moved herself closer, and Severus groaned, his hands coming to rest on the curve of her waist. 

“Give me strength,” he swore, eyes lifting to the ceiling. 

“Do you not want this, Severus? Tell me no, and I’ll stop.”

Her eyes searched his, waiting, and yet he only continued to avoid her gaze. She placed her fingers against his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble, the hardness of his jaw. 

“Tell me yes, Severus.”

He shuddered, eyes flickering closed. 

“Yes,” he whispered. 

Hermione dipped her head, sought out his lips with her own. Gently at first, she pressed her mouth against his, finding it soft. His lips parted, and he exhaled a long breath through his nose, his entire body still but compliant to her touch. 

She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, and he stifled a groan. 

“Kiss me, Severus. Touch me.”

She kissed him again, and this time his lips met hers with equal pressure. A new surge of arousal bloomed in Hermione's core, and her tongue met Severus's with renewed conviction.

She shifted herself closer to his lean body, her hands stroking the bare skin of his neck, sliding along the long muscles of his shoulders. A soft moan escaped her lips as his fingers fell to her hips and gave them a squeeze, rocking her against him.

"I don't know if I can—so soon..." he panted between kisses.

"It's all right," replied Hermione breathily. She brought his hands back to her waist, over the front of the belt that tightened her robes. He deftly undid the sash, and it fell behind her. 

He pulled back, eyes dark and searching, and then he reached for her calves. Ran his hands up the sides of her body, lifting her robes with them until the fabric eased over her head and fluttered to the floor.

His hands gently brushed over the skin of her stomach, her thighs, making her shiver. Her nipples pebbled beneath the cotton of her bra. Without her robes, she could smell the scent of sex and the Fertilium’s perfume wafting from under her knickers. It reminded her of the greenhouses, the pleasure of the pods and his cock, and she whimpered. She kissed him again, her fingers playing with the buttons at the collar of his robes. He brought one hand to cover hers, plucking a single button through its loop and then returned to caress her side. Hermione understood, quickly releasing the rest.

She had never imagined her professor naked before, yet when she finally yanked his robes over his head, she took him in greedily: narrow chest, pale skin, a scattering of black hair between his raspberry-coloured nipples. Her hands skimmed his planes, each touch making him shudder with pleasure. 

Their tongues and lips continued to meet while their hands explored, until both were gasping. Leaning back, Hermione flicked off her bra and took one of his hands again, guiding it to the front of her knickers. Meeting his gaze, she pushed the elastic and cotton aside, until the tips of his dexterous fingers rested in the warm wetness of her vulva. He moved them experimentally, searching, until they grazed across her clit.

"There," Hermione gasped, hips moving to guide his seeking fingers back where she wanted them. Carefully, he began to rub her, his attention on her face, judging her reaction to each slide and twitch of his fingers: open mouth, scrunched eyebrows, fluttering lashes making soft crescents on her flushed cheeks. As his knowledge and confidence grew, so did the rhythm of his touch, and soon her legs were twitching around him, her voice calling out the nearness of her climax. Always intent, he continued, longing to make her writhe as she had with the Fertilium: hips churning, voice shrieking, crotch a river of fluid. Thrashing with passion. 

Aroused by her response, his erection surged back to life, nudging against the base of her pelvis through his boxers. Intent, too, upon her release. The need to see her come apart in front of him. To fill her then, and drive her further. To join her in her ecstasy.

When she finally came, he lifted her upward, assisting her in removing the last of their clothes. Then he gently eased her over his erection, their lungs inhaling sharply in unison. 

_There_ , Hermione thought as the last of him sank into her. Under her own power now, she stretched the moment out—the bliss of completeness. She kissed him, eagerly, that ripple of wild passion stretching languidly, bowstring pulling until it was tight, erect. 

“Hermione,” Severus breathed, and the quiver flew.

Her hips churned. She arched her back, head falling. Chanting. A goddess reborn.

He gripped her flesh, squeezed and lifted. Their movement building. She bounced on top of him. 

There was nothing better—nothing better than him inside her. 

It would be proven again and again, long into the night. 

And in the greenhouses, the Fertilium shifted, its leaves shivering as if there was a light breeze. Scarlet flowers perched upon glistening green pods bowed and lifted, releasing tiny spots of golden light into the room—a million specks of glitter caught in a swirling wind. 

All night long it glowed and shifted. 

Until the mother and her mate finally slept. 

Her children assured of their future.


	4. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you all enjoyed this strange, wild ride! Thank you for the support! Here's the last chapter.

**Chapter 4: Mother**

A Brown Owl descended on the cottage, its wings steady and silent on the Yorkshire breeze. It was a common enough site in this country: the speck of an owl against the clouds, drifting down into a valley amongst the hills. 

The cottage was made of stone, the gardens around it a riot of colour; roses, lavender, and columbine nestled together with beautiful disarray amidst the garden paths, clematis and ivy reaching for the eves. 

A window perched open at the back, and that was where the owl aimed. It alighted in the middle of a bright kitchen, on top of a bowl of apples on a round oak table. A man with dark eyes peered at it speculatively, apparently displeased with the location of its perch. His wife, less apt to criticism, tugged the letter from its leg, and told the creature it was welcome to all of the mice in the garden. 

“Who is it from?” asked Severus, his voice as smooth as anyone could remember, though his long hair was now grey and typically tied back with a coloured elastic stolen from the collection on his wife’s vanity.

“Aubrey,” replied Hermione, unfolding the letter to find her son’s nearly-illegible scrawl. “He’s asking if he can stay at Hogwarts over Christmas.”

“With Albus, presumably.”

“Presumably,” Hermione repeated, smiling. She set the letter in front of her husband and stood. “Would you like to remind him that Christmas is a family holiday?”

“If I must,” muttered Severus dryly. 

“I’m just going to pop out to the greenhouses.”

“Don’t be too long,” Severus replied, his lips lifting. 

“I’ll be back before lunch.” She kissed his temple before slipping out of the kitchen and through the back door. 

Hermione had never been particularly interested in herbology before her encounter with the Fertilium at the age of 18. Yet the experience had left her curious, and so while her stomach grew with her first child, she set herself the task of finding out more about the source of her conception. To her friends’ surprise, her infatuation with the subject did not end with the birth of Juliet, and soon began to encompass other related species. Severus had encouraged her, their relationship by that time firmly settled; it wasn’t entirely without its rocky points, but their commitment had never wavered.

When Juliet was two, she and Severus moved to their cottage in the Dales, leaving Hogwarts behind them. Severus began his own potions business, and Hermione focused on her research. The first greenhouse had been built in the yard that spring, and four Fertilium plants had been the first ensconced inside. 

Their long vines lifted as she entered the door, and she smiled at her daughters. 

“Hello, darlings,” she greeted them affectionately, pausing to tap her wand on the magical sensors that hung on the wall, ensuring the perfect humidity and temperature for her brood. 

“Are you well today?”

She walked into the brightly lit room, moving to each of the plants in turn. She remembered how in the beginning, she had avoided contact with them, assuming they would attempt to breed with her. That changed when she and Severus decided to have a second child, and she discovered that they were unwilling to engage with her sexually. 

That brought on a new line of research, and a new, unrelated Fertilium plant, which was more than happy to assist her and Severus in producing Lionel. 

Patting the tendril of a daughter that had reached to tug on her arm, Hermione moved into the second greenhouse, which was partitioned into three separate rooms. She peered into the first to find Lionel’s benefactor, smiling when it lifted its prefatory bulb to sniff her.

“You know as well as I do that I am no use to you now,” Hermione chastised the plant. “Earlier than most, thanks to you and yours.”

Hermione had three children with Severus—Juliet, Lionel, and Aubrey—and another 68 Fertilium children, thanks to some ambitious research during Aubrey’s conception.

 She’d been desperate to discover whether Fertilium would engage with a woman bred immediately prior by another, and if so, whether the effects would be cumulative. So when she and Severus had agreed to have a third child, she asked if he would be patient, and deliver her body to four Fertilium plants before his finale. 

The plants, it turned out, were not jealous types, and had eagerly pummelled her for three hours before Severus finally got his turn. The ecstasy she had felt had not heightened beyond the initial brilliance, but it and her overwhelming desire for penetration had lasted more than half a day, requiring the frantic extension of babysitting duties by Juliet and Lionel’s grandparents, and the transfiguration of several phallic-shaped toys after Severus’s body became too exhausted to assist her with her needs. 

She’d been chafed, sore, and spent when her nymphomania had finally come to an end, but remained delighted by the experience, for it had not only allowed her to rediscover the Fertilium’s unique and blissful sex yet again, but had taught her several things about the plants in the process. 

“Don’t worry,” she told the specimen in the second greenhouse before leaving, “I have a couple lined up for you next week.”

It hadn’t taken too many articles about her discoveries before she had a lengthy list of customers interested in the aid her specimens provided. Offering their services to couples had also given her new means of research, including the chance to study the long-term effects of interacting with the strange symbionts. She noticed an interesting effect over the first ten years: namely, that couples who conceived with the help of the Fertilium tended to remain together at a higher rate and have more frequent sex than the general population. Further studies had indicated long-term positive effects on human physiology—for both partners, she’d been delighted to discover—such as increased levels of dopamine when near the Fertilium-exposed partner. 

Hermione’s findings explained the boost in her desire for Severus after Juliet’s conception, but they had long ago moved past the insecurities left by her research, and agreed that their feelings had quickly transformed into something beyond what the Fertilium could produce.

Their passion for each other—well, that had never faded.

Neither had Hermione's interest in reproductive and erotic herbology (though that, thankfully, was not something she shared with the other women who had relied on the plants’ magic for fertility). 

Thanks to her research, she was now known as the preeminent expert on Fertilium and similar species, and her greenhouses had expanded considerably. The glass houses now took up most of the acreage behind the cottage, and as an additional benefit, provided ample rare and powerful ingredients for Severus’s thriving potions business. 

She moved through several rooms, each of them attuned to the plants that were housed inside: Devil’s Snare and Cupid’s Ivy, the closest relatives to Fertilium; phallic-shaped cactuses whose needles made an effective tincture to combat impotence; an African tree whose bulbous trunk contained sap that, when mixed with the right ingredients, created erotic dreams so lucid that one had difficulty recalling that they were not real. 

Whenever possible, she and Severus performed experiments themselves, though not everything they did was drafted into papers to be published in the latest issues of _Potions Quarterly_ or the _Journal of Herbological Research_.

Six greenhouses near the back of the complex held Hermione’s private collection, many of them hybrids she’d created herself. After a lengthy trek, she entered the farthest of the six, past a number of seedlings in pots and trays laid along several benches, and into a separate room that held her current fascination: a hybrid that had taken more than a decade of careful, selective breeding and tending to produce.

It looked remarkably like a Fertilium, and in essence, it was much the same. Yet this hybrid had been created without reproductive capacity; its purpose was entirely the gift of short-term nymphomania and complete erotic pleasure. She called it Extasium, and she was eager to test its virility. It had only come to maturity two days ago, its pods and prefatory bulb now large and bright green. There were twenty pods in total, and they came in two types: one fat and with a slight curve to its ample length, and the other smaller and narrower, with several hilly ridges on one side. 

A protective ward shimmered between her and the plant, but while she had only intended to check on it, the sight of the phallic-shaped pods left her knickers damp and her pelvis aching. She hadn’t had sex with one of her specimens since Aubrey’s conception, and more than once in the intervening years, she had wished she was capable of producing a fourth child simply to be able to copulate with the plant again. 

Severus was only partially aware of how often she masturbated in the greenhouses, eyes intent on her daughters and their cousins, or why she preferred it when he tied her up with ropes while they made love.

So she’d created the Extasium. She meant to use it with Severus—certainly it was capable of stimulating them both—but secretly she expected she might spend just as many hours with it alone. 

Glancing back towards the house, she decided she could wait no longer. Carefully, she stripped her clothes, placing them on a stool near the door. She kept her wand in hand, and removed the wards. 

The vines slithered to life as she stepped forward, and she smiled as she felt them caress her feet and legs. She moved directly towards the centre of the plant, offering herself to its intent. Carelessly dropped her wand so she could caress the vines with her palms as they began to wrap around her limbs.

The prefatory bulb did not waste time sniffing her; the vines tugged her into the centre of the plant so she lay prone, her legs folded forward and spread to the side. The pod’s slick, stretching slide inside her was a blissful memory. 

“Yes,” she panted. “That’s it. Give mummy what she needs.”

She felt it move, and arched her back to urge it deeper. There was no pain this time as it worked its magic, and yet there was no escaping the ecstatic need that shot up her spine before the prefatory bulb slid free from her crotch.

Hermione squirmed in the vines, helping them spread her legs wider. She moaned as she felt two pods brush against the skin between her thighs. She heard the wet squelching of her labia as a thick pod pushed itself between them; the other dug its narrow end against her anus.

“Yes!” she cried joyfully. “Yes, I’ve waited so long for you. Fuck me, dearest. Fuck me hard.”

The Extasium did not need her urging. It knew its purpose: to burrow itself into Hermione’s body until she shook and cried. To hold her tightly in its fibrous limbs. 

To pleasure its mate, and keep her for its own.


End file.
